Writer's Block
by ZeroGain
Summary: The author is stymied, saddened by the news of the show's cancellation. Being stuck with writer's block well and truly sucks! Perhaps a visit from Douglas Fargo and a few other Eureka residents can break the terminal blahs? Tags: Meta, AU, Humor.


**_Author's Note:_**_ This started during a conversation between me and a friend. I thought it would be terribly meta to write about a fanfiction author with writer's block. As I wrote it I couldn't help but try and deal with the show's cancellation, so while I began this as an outright humor piece, it turned a bit sad on me. I hope you like it, and hope that maybe it inspires you, and doesn't bum you out too much.  
><em>

_I have been spending a great deal of time with my own original fiction, and so haven't posted very much to the Eureka fandom for a while. If you're interested, I'd very much appreciate it if you check that out as well. You can find me at www . fictionpress . com/u/776651/ (remove the spaces)._

_And really, yes, this is quite meta, so please bear with the oddity of this._

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><p><strong>WRITER'S BLOCK<strong>

The screen remained frustratingly blank. Hours of contemplation and it was still… blank.

The author sighed. News had reached her the week before: for some reason obscure to the fandom the suits had unceremoniously decided to pull the plug on "Eureka". Though, if truth be told the fandom was not short of speculation, the network's reasoning seemed incomprehensible at best.

Dang it, the one show that had motivated her efforts was going to have the sun set on it, say adios, bid adieu. Just thinking about it bummed her out even more.

She had to write something. Anything! Eureka fanfic had become an outlet, and she loved the characters so much. But, as the screen showed, she was blocked.

Nothing was coming.

Oh, she had inspiration aplenty, but every time the story got off the ground it hit these annoying dead ends and complications that only seemed exacerbated by the news.

No, best not to think like that. Will the words to happen! If she wrote it, the words would come… Any moment now… sooner or later… maybe…

"Damn it," she muttered.

"Hey there, unhappy camper! Problems?" asked Douglas Fargo, taking a seat in the empty chair against the long desk in her office. He was dressed just like she'd expect him to be, fresh from his geek-décor office in a fitted dark gray wool suit with a quirky tie and those black rimmed glasses, a huge smile decked across his face.

The writer blinked, staring.

"What?" he asked and looked suddenly uncertain. He quickly surveyed himself for an awkward moment. "Did I leave my fly down or something? Is there something on me?"

He continued this for a moment, then stopped, and looked at the author with dawning comprehension.

Wait, what? How the hell did she know that was 'dawning comprehension'?

Fargo smiled. "Probably because I am most likely a figment of your imagination; unless I'm a visiting apparition from one doozy of a botched experiment, which would be super-cool."

"But…"

"Oh roll with it! You writer types aren't exactly the sanest people around, you know?" He said with a broad grin, just as he might on any episode of the show.

Okay, this was weird. She was either going off the deep end, or gone already. Wow. Could she actually know that? The proof seemed incontrovertible… Well, if she was gone already, why not go with the flow?

"Fine. What the hell, right? Anything to break this block."

"That's the spirit!" cheered Fargo.

So, maybe lay out some groundwork? "Okay, first question. Why you?"

"How, why me?"

"Indeed."

"You wish me to say?"

"I believe I have just asked you to, and moreover, I— wait just one minute, when did this become a Dumas rip-off?"

Fargo blinked. "You wish me to—"

"Oh knock it off!"

He laughed. "Alright, two reasons." He paused for a moment, then looked confused and the moment stretched to several moments. He looked around the room, perplexed"

"What?"

"Um, where's the music?"

"What music?"

"You know, the 'Fargo is about to say something scene worthy' music."

"Um, you're my imaginary friend—"

"Or a botched experiment in multidimensionality."

"—or that." The author sighed.

"I think I prefer the experiment possibility to the imaginary friend hypothesis," Fargo said. "I mean, holy socks! How cool would it be to prove cross-dimensional travel?"

"Didn't time travel land you in enough trouble?" she asked.

"Yeah, but how cool was it? We rewrote the laws of physics!"

"Okay, well if it's the experiment, where's the music?"

Fargo though about it for a moment, eyes distant. "True. If I were from another dimension it seems unlikely that any music native to my dimension would follow me here. It's far more likely, since I'm aware of the music, that I am a figment of your imagination. In that case, theoretically, you could make the music happen."

She thought about that for a moment, then frowned in concentration and tune with no apparent source welled up around them.

"Eureka!" Fargo crowed, "I'm a figment!"

The author blinked, stunned. What the hell? She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, okay. You've distracted me from my original question, quite successfully. So again, why you?"

"Well as to that—"

"_Don't_ start that again!"

He looked abashed for a moment, then a little petulant. "Hey, I'm not the one who's been reading Steven Brust lately," he huffed. "Besides, 'why me' is pretty simple."

"First, excepting Henry, when it comes to fanfiction I'm one of the most underwritten main cast characters." He paused for a moment while she considered.

"And second?"

"Look, I know your first choice would have been Zane." The author nodded. "And probably with his shirt off," Fargo muttered darkly.

"Hmm," the author murmured appreciatively. Fargo rolled his eyes.

"Well, he's the most overwritten character. The man's busy! I mean, have you seen the number of stories about him on the website? Besides, he probably got waylaid making out with Jo. I hope you don't mind a mess in your kitchen.

The author blushed at that. She glanced out the door of her office, but couldn't perceive any indication that there were other apparitions in her kitchen. There were no noises indicative of passionate and wild abandon coming from the hallway, more so was the pity.

Besides, all things considered, she'd rather _be_ Jo than _watch_ them. She sighed and turned back to Fargo.

"Okay then, what is this, some sort of oblique 'Ex-Files' homage? You hang around until I suddenly get what great hidden message you represent?"

"Eh, you could look at it like that." Fargo gestured a see-sawing motion indicating his ambivalence.

"You're not being very helpful."

"Hey, I'm _your_ figment. Who owns the fault there?" She sighed as he smirked. "Alright, basically you've got writer's block."

"Well yeah," she replied. "I can't think of anything to do with my stories. The cancellation news and the whole final episode thing on Twitter is just a buzzkill. I mean, it's a great insight, and poignant and all that, but it's depressing as hell." She slumped in the chair, head in hands, elbows on the desk; and a blank screen with an evil blinking cursor in front of her.

Fargo adopted a thinking posture, legs crossed, arms folded with the fingers of one hand tapping his chin. "I hate to say it, but how do you think _we_ feel?"

Ugh! Like she needed that stress too.

"Sorry," muttered Fargo, "not a help…"

"So I'm frustrated, depressed, and stuck. I don't know what to write, and I'm on the verge of giving up," she said, turning toward him with a morose expression.

"Seems to me you need a good dose of comedy, something to cheer you up a little."

"It's Eureka," she protested, "Comedy is part of the equation."

"And yet you hardly write any." They both cast a significant glance out beyond the fourth wall before Fargo continued. "It's all mopey embittered drama and action, pent up lust, and occasional hot smexiness."

"Yeah, well…"

"Okay, so what were you thinking? You know, before the news."

"I don't know," she huffed, looking away from him.

"Come on, this is part of the gig. You gotta work with me on this or we don't get anywhere."

"Well, you guys have a space ship now, or will, and there's a lot of new territory open to us, but where to go with it?"

"To the moon!" Fargo exclaimed, an excited gleam in his eye.

"Really, Fargo?" drawled Sheriff Jack Carter as he sauntered into the office. "A 'Honeymooners' joke?"

The author stared at him, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. He was dressed in the uniform from the show, and looked as solid and hot as ever. She blushed at the aforementioned scenes of 'smexiness', as Fargo called them; several of those included Jack Carter.

He grinned at her and leaned casually against the wall, tipping an imaginary hat. Damn but he looked good like that…

"Oh Jeez," Fargo snorted at Carter, "You and Zane."

"What?" Carter protested, looking at his fellow figment, confused.

"Please, don't tell me you didn't see her track you in here." Fargo shook his head, "I get no respect."

"Hey, that's not true!" The author protested. "Come on, I can think of at least a few stories on the website that feature you and some lucky girl.

"True," confirmed Carter. "That one with the plants and the girl that looks like Christina Hendricks is pretty good, and if you give it some time I'm sure there'll be quite a few Fargo/Holly ones."

Fargo blushed at the commentary, turning a bright shade of red and looking away from them. It was cute. The author giggled a little.

The author slapped her knees. "Alright!" she exclaimed with some bravado, though she knew most of it was false. "I'm coming up with ideas already, but I've got you both here. What should I write about?"

Fargo and Carter shrugged and looked at each other.

"Honestly?" asked Carter

"Whatever I want?" she asked.

"Well yeah," Fargo said, nodding. He smiled at whatever he was thinking. "If it makes you happy and scratches the itch, write it."

"Yeah, but the cancellation—"

"Is just a show," Interrupted Carter with a gentle smile. His voice was full of rock solid assurance.

"Come on," he said, indicating that she should follow. Fargo stood and the two of them exited the office. Perplexed, the author followed. When they made it to her living room she froze.

It was full.

"Oh! Hot chocolate for one more!" Vincent bubbled as he exited her kitchen, a laden tray in one hand.

The author stared at her seating area, marveling at all the characters taking up space there. Zane and Jo shared her oversized recliner, he in the chair she perching on the arm. He hand ran up her back in a semi-possessive gesture that the author had imagined many times. On the couch, Allison made room for Jack and the two of them kissed after he settled in place next to her. Kevin and Zoe, sitting at the dining area's table with little Jenna, both made faces, though she swore that Zoe had a secret smile she wasn't showing the rest of the room.

Fargo assumed his own perch on the other arm of the sofa and reached for Holly's hand. The two of them smiled at each other, and it was engaging, if a little awkward yet. On the loveseat Henry and Grace sat close, and the ever smiling Andy stood against one wall.

"Well, good evening ma'am!" Andy greeted her cheerfully. Flustered, she managed a halting greeting.

Vincent passed out his burden and quickly fetched the author her own mug of liquid gold. She tasted it, seeking a respite from the overwhelming vista, and almost melted into the warmth of the drink. It was just like she made it, only better: rich and thick, real chocolate and real milk, with just a hint of butterscotch schnapps to give it a kick.

Nirvana, it seemed, if only a fleeting visit.

"So…" she said slowly, "That's it." She surveyed the assembled crowd and nodded. "I've gone bonkers. The happy men in the white coats are coming for me in the morning."

"No, I don't think so," countered Grace with a reassuring smile. "and I'm a neurologist, so I believe I'm qualified to say if you are or are not 'bonkers', as you put it."

"Okay… What is all this then?"

"A simple expression of your longing to remain close to the characters—to us—in the face of impending loss," Grace answered, her voice calm and steady. "None of us like loosing comfortable or beloved things, be they possessions, family, or—" she gestured around the room, "—friends, imaginary or not."

"Or, you're going bonkers," snickered Zane.

"Zane!" Jo reprimanded, and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Ow!" he protested, but smiled up at her. "You're so sexy when you're angry."

"Oh get a room," said Carter, shaking his head.

"Hey, not a bad idea," Zane leered and looked at the author, "Can we?"

"No!" she snapped, flabbergasted and embarrassed. She could feel her cheeks and ears blazing.

Allison saved her, bringing them back on track. "You're not going crazy. Truly, the news hurts us all, but there's nothing we can do about it."

Just as the author expected, Allison was reasoned and calm, every inch the powerful and confident woman. The author thought that, well, of course it would be impossible for them, they couldn't exactly write letters, and said so.

"Very true, that would be a physical and temporal impossibility," Henry agreed.

"What we're saying," Allison resumed, "Is that while we have no power over the situation, you do. I know it seems a burden on some level, but we're expressions of you and your love of the show and our world, and we find life _through_ you.

The author considered those words and took a moment to reflect while she sipped at the hot chocolate. That really did seem like a burden… but she loved them all so much, how could she just let it all go?

"Every show ends," said Carter. "Some get a great sendoff, like us. Others get a knife in the back. You guys, the fandom, and us, we get another year to put it all together, and that's great. But what Grace and Allison and the rest of us are saying is that we've found a new life through you and the rest of the fanfiction community.

"When the show is gone, we'll continue on through that, and frankly, I really love how you guys all love us. I mean, some of the stories can get kinda dark and all, but they're amazing."

"Yeah, but—"

"But nothing," said Jo. "Without the show you're liberated. From there we can go anywhere, and do anything. And I, for one, am thrilled by the idea of all the opportunities yet to come!"

There was a general consensus, nods from all around. Even Jenna giggled and clapped as if to say "me too!"

The idea took hold in the author's mind. In a sense they were right. There was a fantastic springboard and wonderfully alive characters that loved and succeeded and failed and grew, each in their own way. She knew them all, loved them all.

Really, from here, there were no limits.

She smiled at the thought.

"That's the spirit!" cheered Fargo

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><p>The author awoke with a start, sitting up in her bed. The clock said it was far, far too early to be up, but she felt fresh and vital, and the dream was <em>so<em> vivid. She smiled as she played it back, the depression of the prior evenings banished, at least for now.

They were right, she thought, what else to do about it but write? Other fandoms kept their love alive for decades after their shows had passed, how could Eureka be any different?

Her imagination brimming with fresh ideas, she got out of bed, threw on a robe, and went to her dining room with her laptop.

She'd brew some hot chocolate a little later. Right now it was time to write.

—Fin—

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><p><strong><em>Disclaimer:<em>**_ I neither own nor profit from Eureka or any of the show's trademarks or copyrights. I write fanfiction for self-gratification and enlightenment, and I thank the wonderful people who make the show for being those who are happy to have a community like ours._


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